


Lost and Found

by c4s



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x19 coda, 15x20 fix it, Coda, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Destiel - Freeform, Drinking, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, I'll fix the spelling errors when I get back to my laptop on my day off, Kinda, M/M, Praise Kink, Supernatural - Freeform, Wing Kink, but he's very much alive, but here's my attempt anyways, castiel's death is mentioned, fuck how do i tag things, i also have not written smut properly in like... ever, i haven't written a proper fic in years help, ish?, like it just never happens which is technically a fix, spn 15x19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c4s/pseuds/c4s
Summary: He may have been lost the first time he laid hands on Dean, but he was found the first Dean laid hands on him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 127





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a hot minute since I've written anything properly fic-like, so uhhh here's my best attempt for 1 am. This hasn't been beta'd, and I literally wrote it between 1 am and 4 am.
> 
> This is based on the idea that Dean would take his time w Cas because sex for him is usually this one-night-stand rushed thing, but he wants it to mean something when he sleeps with him. thanks to @winchesterd__ on twitter for the inspo <3 
> 
> Please comment constructive crit if you have it!
> 
> Anyways, enough from me. Go wild

The storybook had finally been closed, the pen laid down for the last time. Chuck’s eternal grip on the Winchester’s life had finally been released.

_And we ripped up the rules, the ending, and destiny, leaving nothing but freedom and choice._

Freedom and choice leads Castiel and Dean to Dean’s bedroom. They stand in the doorway awkwardly for a minute, unsure of what step comes next.

“i…” Dean starts, “I’m so glad you’re back, Cas.” Dean had lost Castiel before. He had wrapped Cas’ body and burned it before. He’d screamed and prayed and shattered his hand over Cas before. But this last time? He was sure it was the end. This time, he went numb. He drank until Sam had to start limiting his drinks. He stayed in bed sixteen hours a day. Sam had to fight to get him to eat. This time, he felt more than empty. His heart had turned into a black hole, vacuuming anything that tried to bring him some sort of relief from the devastation. Cas _loved_ him, or at least he had before he was absorbed by vantablack jello. Was he still alive in there? Could he hear Dean’s prayers? Would he eventually hate Dean for being the reason he ended up there? Thinking made the black hole stronger, so Dean drank.

When he woke a few days later to Castiel standing in his doorway, his body nearly split trying to do all the things he wanted to do at once. _Why did you do that? Why did you say that? Are you okay? How are you back? Why did you leave me again?_ Thirty million questions, a wicked hangover, and only twenty six letters meant the only thing that came out of Dean’s mouth was “Cas,” and that was that. Tripping over bedsheets and beer bottles, he scrambles to Castiel but pausing a foot away.

“Are you real?” There’s a very strong likelihood that Dean is just dreaming again, or that someone is tricking him again. All he can hear in the back of his mind is “Dean, I’m hurt. Can you let me in?” It’s Castiel’s voice, but Lucifer’s face.

It’s only one step forward, but it feels like the biggest step Castiel has ever taken. “Dean,” he says, voice cracking, “I’m here.” 

It’s all Dean needs to hear to close the gap and hold onto Cas tighter than anything he’s held before. It’s real. It’s him. It’s Cas.

The moment his fingertips brush against Castiel’s skin, Dean decides he never wants to break away again. He’d always valued the rare moments he’d get to touch Castiel—when the angel would heal him, picking him up after a fight, the brush of knuckles when they’d stand just a little too close together. Always fleeting, gone before either of them had time to blink, but the warmth would linger for much longer than either would care to admit and maybe, just maybe, they both recognized it.

Of course nothing was said. For twelve years, they bit their tongues and stopped mid-sentence to not say what they both so desperately wanted to say.

He starts at Cas’ face, brushing across his forehead, down across angled cheekbones to a stubbled jaw. Dean tries not to stare at Cas’ lips so much. The intimacy of the moment is somehow not permission enough for him. Not yet, at least. They both know what this this, what this will be. For years they’ve been two bundles of tension vibrating just a fraction of a frequency off from one another—close, but dissonant. He blushes, looking down, but calloused fingers press his chin up and his favorite shade of blue stares back at him.

Cas only says one word: “Dean.”

“Cas I—” he’s cut off by soft lips pressed against his.

Permission had been granted.

Everything is on fire and the air is burning, still the only thin on Dean’s mind is the feeling of _finally_ getting to kiss Castiel. All the times he should have but never did, every missed moment and self-shaming because he wasn’t allowed to want something like this… the wait was worth it. He’d wait another twelve years to feel like this again because damn is this one for the books. It takes every bit of his will power not to shred Castiel’s clothes off him and run across his body. Instead, he steels himself, cupping one hand behind Cas’ head, furrowing through dark brown hair, while the other traces down his neck.

Cas leans into Dean’s touch, mind drunk with the feeling. He doesn’t feel the fire in the air. Rather, he feels it on his skin and in his bones, warm blush creeping from his cheeks. He may have been lost the first time he laid hands on Dean, but he was found the first Dean laid hands on him. In twelve years (which is an incredibly short time span when you’ve lived for eons), Dean Winchester had done more to change Castiel than anything else in the universe. Nothing God could do would ever come close to what Dean had brought. Everything he’s done—he rebelled, he bled, he died—all for one man.

And that man is now kissing his jaw. His chin. Under his chin and _oh._ His breath stops. It’s already nearly all too much. Attraction like this wasn’t something Castiel often felt inclined to, let alone to act on. No one had, for lack of a better term, “revved his engines” in the way Dean could. Too many times Dean had stirred certain emotions and feelings within him that he simply buried. At first it was because angels weren’t meant to. Then it was because an angel and a human would be preposterous. Then it was because he valued Dean’s friendship too much. There was always some reason, something he found to justify never acknowledging the fact that Dean made him feel things he never thought possible.

There was no reason anymore. Castiel didn’t need an excuse. They were free of Chuck, free from the host of heaven lording over them, free from the shame and guilt that had plagued them for so long, and he was going to enjoy it damnit. There would be no scarred handprint on his skin, but Dean has left marks of his own.

Soft nips and kisses trail down Cas’ neck. The angel smells like earth and whiskey and sweat, and Dean is lost in it. From the sounds escaping from Cas’s mouth to the way Cas’ hands wrap around his torso, there is nothing in the world he can think of that could break this spell. Except for maybe the momentary realization that Dean has never done this before, and Cas has probably never done this before.

Dean pauses, suddenly unsure and insecure. Sex for him is always quick, rough around the edges, and certainly never something you’d think too long about because he’d probably never see them again anyways. This isn’t that. He wants to spend the next eternity finding out all the ways he can undo Cas—the sounds he’d make, the faces he’d make, what would make him cry out Dean’s name and how many different ways he could make him say it.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks, and Dean realizes he’s lost in thought.

“Yeah, ‘m fine, I’m just…” he trails off, smiling. “C’mere.” They kiss again, softer and sweeter. Dean lifts his hands to Cas’ collar and breaks away just far enough to ask permission. “May I?”

This is it. Make or break, though Dean isn’t sure why he’s so worried because they’re clearly way past the point of no return.

Castiel replies by guiding Dean’s hands to undo his shirt buttons. As they move down Castiel’s chest, he stares up at Dean, foreheads pressed together. _Blue skies smiling at me_. They’re halfway, then too the bottom of Dean’s shirt and _shit_ , he looks down to see not only his hands right at Cas’ belt, but the obvious strain against Cas’ pants. All he wants to do is _touch_ , but he won’t let himself—not yet. This isn’t about what he wants. This is about making Cas feel like the least holy angel he can possibly be. Instead, he slips his hands under Castiel’s shirt and slides it to the floor. His hands are free to feel their way across his chest and back, across the numerous scars from being an on-again-off-again human, across what he can only assume are where his wings would be, and any other area of exposed skin he can touch. Castiel shudders. Dean is addicted. He wants more, he _needs_ more. His left hand takes it’s time, gently rubbing across the wing scar. Castiel is slack-jawed and wide-eyed, making noises Dean realizes no one else in the history of, well, anything has ever heard. He’s nearly mewling, trembling against Dean.

“Please.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but Dean hears it in his soul. With his free hand, he traces down Cas’ chest. Some scars he knows. Hell, some scars he made. Time and time again, Dean had put him through so much pain. He had failed Cas more times than he could count. But he could do this—he could make Castiel feel more than he’d felt before—and he wanted to. When he reaches Cas’ hipbones, he lets his fingers dip beneath the belted waistband, heart pounding. Close, he was so _close_. It’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying. One more swipe across Cas’ scar has him pleading.

Castiel thinks he has officially as the humans say “died and gone to heaven,” (though heaven still isn’t a place he feels like being right now). Dean Winchester, the Michael sword, the Righteous Man, savior of pretty much every universe is sinking to his knees in front of him and all he can do is stare. It’s a beautiful sight, not even Chuck’s best sunsets holding a candle to the glory that kneels in front of him. It’s sheer willpower alone keeping Castiel upright as Dean works away his belt, undoing his pants and slipping them down his legs. Only a worn pair of black boxers sits between Dean and Cas’ increasingly hard cock.

Looking up at the closest thing he’s known to heaven, Dean takes a breath and lean in, pressing gentle kisses to Cas’ hipbones. His hands find purchase on flushed thighs, holding steady as he peppers kisses down one hipbone, then the other. If he thought Castiel was beautiful before, he surely never anticipated the way he’d look like this—standing over him, breathing heavily with blown pupils rolling back. His hands make their way through Dean’s hair, needing something to touch. _This_ is what he was afraid of feeling? This pure joy? His breath stops again when Dean kisses his clothed cock, and fights the urge to tighten his grip on the hair in his hands.

Dean takes that as the ‘okay, go,’ and gets to work. He mouths at the fabric, teeth grazing down the enclosed length, trying his best not to laugh when Castiel moans. His hands slip up to Cas’ ass, giving a firm squeeze before tucking his fingers under the waistband and pulling them down until Castiel, angel of the (former) lord is ass naked in front of him. Cas’ cock springs upward, finally free from confinement, and Dean gulps because he’s ten seconds away from his first blowjob and he’ll be the first to admit, he’s a little scared. He returns to Cas’ hip, nose brushing against soft brown curls, this time leaving small bite marks across them as he slowly drags one hand up Cas’ thigh to the base of his cock, and loosely grips it. Dean nearly loses it when Cas bucks against his hand. Using his free hand to steady himself against Cas’ thigh, he starts moving. It’s torturously slow at first and Cas is desperate for more, but Dean has the reins and won’t let him rush. He swipes a bead of precome from the slit, using it to tease just under his head. Cas’ thighs twitch, and Dean wants to laugh but that would mean taking his mouth away from Cas’ skin, and that’s the last thing he wants to do right now.

After what is tantamount to twelve years of slow burn, Dean takes a breath and wraps his lips around Cas, gagging when Cas thrusts forward involuntarily, fingers wrapped in his hair. Castiel immediately pulls back and apologizes, but Dean pays him no mind and takes him right back in. “F-fuck,” he stutters out, the first time Dean has ever heard him say it. Clearly, he’s on the right track. He trails his tongue up Castiel’s length before returning to teasing his head. He’s not sure what he expected this to be like, but this is better than anything he could have dreamed of. Castiel is _stunning._ He’s whimpering and whispering Enochian because he can’t form any words in English that could describe the sensation of Dean sucking his dick, and while Dean can’t translate it off the top of his head, the meaning is conveyed in the way Castiel sounds like pure need. Everything about him and this moment is intoxicating, and Dean never wants to be drunk on anything else again. Who needs whiskey when you have an angel to love? His own member is painfully hard against his jeans, but he can’t stop to think about himself because Cas’ breathing is getting faster and faster, and Dean wants to be the first in his long-lived life to make him come. “Dean… pl- oh dear God please don’t stop Dean please don’tstoppleasedon’tstopDea—” When he feels Cas’ thighs begin to shake again, he sinks down as far as he can, ignoring the need to breathe and the reflex to gag.

Oh, is it worth it.

Castiel has seen the creation of stars and galaxies. He’s seen them collapse in on themselves and burn up in empty skies. The stars he sees right now are brighter than anything. Shuddering as he comes down Dean’s throat, hands still intwined with his hair, he looks down to see hooded orchard green eyes staring up at him full of love and want, arguably the two things Castiel never knew he needed.

Dean hears his name in a thousand languages, probably loud enough to be heard in the next state, but he doesn’t care. He swallows and pulls back, a string of spit and come bridging between his lips and Cas’ twitching cock. Castiel sinks to the ground next to him and pulls him by his shirt back in for a kiss. Dean no longer feels the need to be restrained. He kisses Castiel with a fury, teeth colliding and nipping at swollen lips. He’s far too involved in this kiss to notice that Cas has placed his hand on his thigh, or when he move his hand to his waistband. When his hand slips under Dean’s t-shirt, Dean gasps against Cas’ mouth.

 _Human are such fragile things_ , Castiel used to think. Now, he looks at Dean Winchester and sees the strength and resilience of humanity. Dean’s scars are rougher, and more numerous than Castiel’s. He can feel which ribs have been broken one too many times to have healed smoothly back together. Dean, always taking care of him, taking hits for him when he knows that Cas could just heal himself later. Dean, not afraid to jump into a fight because he never thought he was worth as much as the person he was saving. Maybe one day he could forgive himself for the times he could protect Dean, for the prayers left unanswered that could have been one less beating Dean took. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to make up for the times he failed him, but what he does know is that right now, Dean is solid against his pants and Castiel is just as desperate to see what Dean looks like when he’s come undone as Dean was to see Cas the same way.

In one move, Castiel has scooped Dean in his arms and carries him to the bed. Now, _there_ is a look: dishevelled hair, lust blown eyes, lips pink and swollen. He sits down next to Dean, gesturing to his shirt. “Is this okay?” he asks. Dean nods and helps Cas pull the t-shirt over his head. It’s not often Cas has seen Dean without a shirt. The man slept in shirts and wore three layers on a warm day, so the opportunity never exactly presented itself. The only time he’d properly gotten a look was when he rebuit Dean’s body the day he pulled him from hell.

It hurts his heart to see the scars, but Dean’s body is a work of art. When he rebuilt Dean, Castiel learned every inch of his body. He pieced him back together atom by atom. Still, to see his body like this is something else entirely. It is holy and sacred and Castiel wants to sanctify every part of it.

He pushes Dean back into the mattress and straddles his thighs, kissing across his collarbones and chest. One hand balancing on the mattress, he uses the other to undo Dean’s pants and shimmy them down far enough for him to slip his hand into Dean’s boxers. “Oh shit, Cas, fuck,” he moans into Cas’ hair. Castiel licks a stripe up Dean’s chest to his neck, hitting the same area Dean got him earlier.

“You always take such good care of me, Dean,” Cas praises, “so loving, so kind, so perfect.” He palms at Dean’s cock, beaming when Dean bucks his hips up into his hand. “It’s okay, I’ll make you feel good. I promise.” He pulls his hand back to spit in his palm before slipping back under the elastic. Wrapping his spit-slicked fingers around Dean, he sucks at the tender spot under Dean’s neck, bringing a dark purple hickey to the surface. Dean’s whole body arches against him, nerves on edge as Cas’ hand moves up and down. Once he’s satisfied with Dean’s new coloring, he goes to work kissing and lapping at each spot to soothe the skin. Dean is shaking, near the edge of a cliff he is ready to jump off, and Cas can sense it. “Beautiful, Dean. You’re beautiful,” he whispers before taking his hand away.

The loss of contact startles Dean and leaves him with an insatiable craving for more. Cas scoots down the bed and pulls Dean’s pants and boxers the rest of the way off, the both of them at last with nothing between them. In a moments time, Cas’s head is bobbing along Dean’s cock, hands pressing his hips down into the bed. Dean can no longer form thoughts. “Cas I- oh plea-fuck keep going,” he begs. There’s a drag of teeth across the tip here, a tongue wrapping around the head there, all sorts skills Castiel didn’t know he had but was pleased to know he did. He enjoys the way Dean twitches when he drags his nails up the inside of his thighs, head bent back from the intensity of the fire burning in his core.

Seamlessly, Cas replaces his mouth with his hands and kisses his way back up Dean’s chest. He wants to hear these breaths. He wants to hear these small whimpers. He wants to hear Dean say filthy things to him and know that no one else will hear words like these.

“Cas, ‘m gonna come,” he pants, and Castiel is on cloud nine. “S-so fuckin close.”

Cas quickens his pace, taking care to tease Dean’s slit, and whispers more words of praise. “So beautiful for me, Dean. You’re so beautiful.” Dean wants to feel embarrassed, but there’s an angel with his hands around his dick which makes that awfully hard to do (pun intended). It’s the last thing he whispers in Dean’s ear, soft and low, that sends Dean over the edge.

“You always have me, Dean. I love you.”

The flash of white Dean sees as he comes is comparable only to the light of seeing Castiel for the first time.

His body twists and shudders as Castiel keeps stroking his cock, telling him how beautiful he looks and how good he is. Brain numb from the overwhelming sensation, Dean can do nothing except moan against Cas’ chest and fuck into his hand as he rides his orgasm. Finally Cas pulls away and cleans off his hand before turning Dean on his side and cuddling up behind him.

They’re silent for a few minutes, both processing what the literal fuck just happened and catching their breaths. Carding his fingers between Cas’, Dean hugs his arms tight and for the first time, is completely honest with Castiel.

“I love you too.”

This time, Dean will spend sixteen hours in bed not because he’s more than empty, but because he’s more than whole.


End file.
